Grumble, Grumble

Oh, wouldn't the world seem dull and flat with nothing whatever to grumble at?

W.S. Gilbert

Tis one of those rare days when I don't have to get out of bed. Coming off a day of substitute teaching hell, I awoke to the perfect morning for recovery -- a gray sky complete with a drizzling rain.

With the blinds closed in my bedroom and the back patio door bringing in the only light, I'm furrowing deep into the covers. Such sinful pleasure to lie here. I awakened early, but have decided to warm myself and shake off the remnants of yesterday's bad day.

One of those days where I find myself policing and thinking that if any of these kids were mine, I'd beat the shit out of them for their behavior. However, these days, I'm not up for a fight. Causes me to step back and wonder what the hell I'm doing with my time. Or not doing.

I've known for some time I don't want to return to secondary school teaching or secretarial work. Substituting offers flexibility, but nothing in the way of contributing to any one's life, least of all mine. I can certainly do it and do it well as most of my work is by request. But the pay is pathetic. I've never enjoyed babysitting and it takes me all day to make what most can make in few hours or less.

Late last night, when neither a teacher request nor an open job for the next day had shown up by midnight, I took myself off the morning call queue. I keep telling myself that for right now, this job works -- until I figure out what I'm going to do with the rest of my life. I mean, really, it's a Wednesday and here I am, nestled in bed at 8:30am.

And if I don't get out of bed, I won't have to think about what else I might could do.

Ah, the disgruntled Midlife Jobhunter. Guess I'll go soak my head in a pail of water. After all, tomorrow is another day.

Help! Closet Dweller Needs a Tune

Child of mine, child of mine
Oh yes, sweet darling
So glad you are a child of mine.

Carole King

Today I changed the sheets on my bed. Not because I planned to, but because Janna at Something She Wrote posed a question on her blog the other day as to how often we might fess up to changing our sheets. Okay. Weekly, of course. Right?

Couldn't sleep last night. Got up this morning, stripped my bed and washed the sheets. Maybe if I had more than one pair of sheets. But they're not fresh when you pull them out of the linen closet - and I like to hang them outside, and ...

I've lost the thread.

Anyway, so Jacob, my oldest who is getting married in April, calls me while I'm tugging on the last corner of the clean bottom sheet and says,

"I need you to pick a song for the Mother/Son dance."

"Okay," I say. "I'll think about it and let you know."

Back to making the bed. While I'm putting on the blanket and trying to make neat corners in the tiny side leftovers on the King size cover that's REALLY MADE FOR A QUEENSIZE EVEN THOUGH IT SAYS KING (why do they do that?), a deep thought hits me. I fall onto the bed and after a few moments of hyperventilation, grab the phone and call Jacob back.

"So like the two people who prefer hiding in the back row, in the dark, have to get up in front of everyone -- and dance. Like alone?"

"That's what I said," he replies.

Shit.

All I can think of is Hank Williams - Six Pack to Go.

I Googled Mother/Son dance and the only one I liked is the Beatles - In My Life - 2 minutes 37 seconds. I have always loved, and sang to my children, Carole King's Child of Mine. But I would sob all the way through that and it is also 3 minutes and 53 seconds. An eternity. On a dance floor. In the spotlight. In a silver pair of shoes that are killing my feet.

When Jacob came by today, he said we don't have to do it if we don't want to. Now I feel I have too much time racked up in the best song pursuit. Easy to puss out on it, but must press forward.

So, I pose the question to all of you. An appropriate mother/son dance song that is cool, not sappy, not sad, not at the top of the mom/son dance Google hit list, has a little sass, classs, not too slow, not too fast, and will hopefully make everyone else join us on the dance floor when the next song is Love Shack.

Help required, indeed.

Please click on the songs to the right to see what I'm thinking.

Job Hunting - Not Just for Old Ladies

The closest to perfection a person ever comes is when he fills out a job application form.

Stanley J. Randall

All this talk of weddings and college visits and choices has bypassed another son in my house. One embarking on a new adventure. Remember Jordan? The boy who raises fawns?




And kills rattlesnakes?

Tucked in the middle of that wedding and high school graduation is the completion of a Bachelor's degree in biology -- trip to Arizona for my husband and me to see that boy grasp his diploma. And, of course, college graduations bring gainful employment where children elope from parent's payrolls. Permanently. Right. RIGHT!

In the file of resumes I've kept on my desktop for ready use this past year, Jordan's has the freshest face. Young, unattached, eager to take on the world -- everything he owns will fit in his car, opening up the many possibilities he's finding countrywide that offer his next adventure.

While completing 17 hours of study to adhere to the four year tuition schedule allotted by his parents (those dwindling funds now assigned to his younger brother) each day he searches the wildlife websites for open positions, adjusting his resume and cover letter to fit the job. A science guy, he has utilized his mother's typing fingers to tighten up the verbiage. Makes me feel useful and I'm glad he's asking. (I can fix other people's sentences much better than my own.)

Impatiently, he checks his email to await responses to his applications. Nothing yet. But the windows keep opening, he keeps applying, and he is ready to fly.

If I compare his possibilities to mine, the Midlife Jobhunter, I see a much broader skyline in his search. Youth backs his flight. Although his credentials may not contain as many skills or as much experience as mine, he is more employable simply because he is young, flexible, willing to relocate, and has the energy to work long hours and get his hands dirty.

Not to say midlifers can't do that, but a definite difference exists for those of us no longer trained in the newest technologies. Those that have too much baggage to pack up all our belongings in our Civic and head off down the road. Those that can physically no longer take on the tasks that younger years offered.

Makes for a most exciting time for this young son. One that will strike out on his own and has not completely figured out how exciting life will be.

Another one - that I once carried in my arms - all grown up.

From Somewhere On The Job Hunting Road

The most important thing to remember is this: To be ready at any moment to give up what you are for what you might become.

W.E.B. Du Bois

While a teenager, the neighbors across the street hired me to babysit their four boys. Four hours of sheer hell preceded two hours spent getting them to stay in their beds. Pay? A measly 50¢ an hour.

In the next few years, I had other babysitting jobs. Never liked the work. Perhaps all the hours I spent taking care of my own brothers tainted me, but for whatever reason, babysitting was not my thing.

Move forward to today. Guess what I’m doing now? Babysitting. And in today’s dollars, probably for about the same amount of money. In the last few weeks I’ve been an English, World Geography, World History and French teacher. I’ve directed a band and supervised (combat) Handball. I’ve engaged my experience as a mom to use hand signals to get a child back into a seat or to stand in the middle of a crowd with my arms held slightly in the air, gathering attention without raising my voice.

Yup, I’m back in the saddle of substitute teaching. Back on easily, like riding a bike, only not anywhere near as much fun. Thirty years ago in Michigan I did the same thing only that state required an active teaching certificate. Way back then, I looked like I was ten. I rarely had trouble with discipline, however, I now have the ability to look at a trouble-making kid and deliver the “Don’t Mess With Me, Man. I’m the Mother of Three Boys” look.

I’d like to say that my pursuit of midlife job hunting has taken me to new heights. That things I’ve learned over the past 35 years since I graduated from high school have afforded me a plethora of qualifications for many different jobs. Perhaps it has, but so far I haven’t been able to channel that into an actual position.

Last spring, I sat in a virtual prison scoring high school exit level essays – 200 a day. The requirements for that job? A Bachelor’s degree and a pulse. Substitute teaching in my current state requires less than that. A high school degree and this year they’ve added a prerequisite of 60 hours of college. I seem to be going backwards.

The pay? Well, lets just say, I depend on my husband for food, clothing, and shelter.

But I've not done all my homework. Have I spent more than 60 minutes on my resume trying to add up all I’ve accomplished and participated in the past 22 years since my last full-time employment? Not completely.

Is there a reason for that? Yes.

I still have a child home this year that I feel deeply committed to finish raising. I have no desire to lose him in his senior year or miss out on participating in his life. Not as a hovering helicopter mom – he is most independent – but in the small part of his life that is left with me before he embarks on his own.

Now that my defense is established, I can pursue my true passion for a while longer - reading and writing. Gathering my abilities and methods to generate them into a paying position – next year. Meanwhile, I’m in the classroom, working a job where the teachers I sub for don’t seem to have much expectation from me (perhaps due to the meager requirements for the job). For me, I'm in another job I'm good at, but don't enjoy.

I understand the versatility required in this position – walking into a room and with a few moments notice keep 36 kids working and producing something worthwhile for the class length. I need to become more familiar with the teachers so they’ll know to give me something to teach as I do have something to offer more than babysitting. At least I hope so.

Meanwhile, An Opportunity Knocks

[I]f one wants to get a boat ride, one must be near the river.

Anchee Min, Becoming Madame Mao

A brief note of progress on the job hunting venture. No, I'm not going to read high school essays again. Might be worse. I signed up for substitute teaching.

Even though I have decided I don't want to teach high school again, I did sign up for subbing when the opportunity opened. Last school year, many districts had an overabundant onslaught of applicants for substitutes. When things were quite dire around my house, the sign up had closed. Hence, I ended up reading high school essays for three miserable months.

A woman who sat in front of me on our sweatshop line would often moan and hold her head as she returned to her seat from one of our two breaks. "This place is the graveyard for the liberal arts major," she cried.

Huh! Couldn't argue with that. Substitute teaching may be another section of that graveyard in regard to the pay, but I do enjoy the kids and will be happy adding to the tuition/food/kid's continuous needs coffers while I continue my journey toward something more permanent.

My application is not yet complete as I need to submit my college transcripts. Where the hell you think my college is going find them? I graduated in 1978.

Can't you picture some poor soul in a clackety elevator slamming deep, down into a musty basement. After pulling the chain attached to a dangling light bulb, he clicks on his flashlight and wanders among the boxes lined to the ceiling. Way back in the far corner, he swishes away a spider's web to find the box marked 1978. For my $5 fee, that good scout will find those pages that prove I was truly there.

Now the grades on those transcripts may not show my mind was there, but, no matter. I got the piece of paper with Bachelors marked on it. All I need.

As to the more permanent pursuit? Of course writing is my favorite thing, as well as reading. But we know how that goes. I've narrowed it down a bit however -- editing, or returning to school for an MFA in Creative Writing.

Not sure I can afford the latter with two in college. But if dreams die.....

How are those of you in transition faring?